


Reporting for Duty

by TwelveLeagues



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Devotion, M/M, Office Sex, Pining, Verbal Humiliation, sexual fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-12 18:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18451811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwelveLeagues/pseuds/TwelveLeagues
Summary: Rivette does his best to keep his boss happy, but Javert’s mind is elsewhere.





	Reporting for Duty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/gifts).



As raids went, it hadn’t been such a disaster. Rivette had picked up a bump to the cheek that would blossom into a real bruise overnight if he was unlucky. His shirt was torn, his trousers were streaked with dirt, and by God the boss would give him hell for the state of his boots. But they’d got the job done and that made it a good day.

Javert was still at his desk, bent over a stack of old papers. Rivette moved around to look over his shoulder, caught the name “Madeleine” in the blur of words and suppressed a sigh.

“Nasty piece of work, that one,” he said, half to himself. “A thief, a cutthroat. Most likely dealing in whores. It’ll be the hulks for him, no doubt.”

“You caught him, then?” Javert’s eyes were still on his papers, but there was a rumble of approval in his tone that sent a warm pulse through Rivette. _Stupid_ , he thought. And he inched closer to the desk.

“That’s right. Took four of us to hold him down, but we just about managed it.”

That got his attention. Javert pushed his seat back so he was half angled towards Rivette.

“Four men, you say.”

“That’s right. Quite the challenge.”

“Was he—” Javert moistened his lips, “unusually strong, in your judgement?”

It would be easy to say yes. To let Javert indulge in a late-night fantasy of the one that got away, dragged back in chains and waiting to be interrogated. Rivette had thought about it himself, once or twice: What would it be like to be the man who gave Javert the one thing he wanted in life? 

_Pathetic_ , Rivette thought. _Absolutely pathetic._

“It wasn’t him, Sir,” he said instead. 

Javert’s shoulders slumped a little, his lips curling upwards in a bitter grimace. And now his eyes settled on Rivette, moving from his ragged shirt to his stained trousers and then back up to his face. 

Rivette forced a nervous laugh. “Not quite up to your usual presentation standards, I know.”

“Not quite,” Javert agreed. But there was a rare smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He leaned back in his seat, looking up at Rivette with open interest. “It took four of you to bring this man in, you say?”

Rivette paused, the answer half formed on his tongue. Ordinarily, a report of this nature would be delivered formally. Javert would listen dispassionately, perhaps make a note of anything pertinent to other cases. He would sit upright at his desk. Rivette, for his part, would be properly attired and Javert’s eyes would not linger on the place where his collar fell open to expose his throat.

“I told you, Sir, it wasn’t him.”

Javert nodded, and his legs shifted imperceptibly further apart. “Tell me anyway.”

So it was one of _those_ nights. Rivette’s eyes darted towards the door. There was a faint chance that a night watchman might wander in or some urgent matter might come up. But it was unlikely. He took a deep breath.

“As I say, the job took four of us. We’d got word that this man was operating near the Rue Saint-Jacques. He’d lurk in a dark alley waiting for drunk students to stumble home and pick them off as they passed.”

Javert inclined his head. When he spoke, his voice was rough.

“Describe him.”

“Must have been fifty years old, but his hair was thick and dark. And he was a big man. Strong. Taller than you, I’d say.”

“Taller than you?”

Rivette paused questioningly. Javert studied him for a moment. “Yes. Taller than you, I think.”

“Taller than me, Sir. But not as handsome.”

Javert chuckled at that and leaned back a little in his seat. And wherever his mind was, his eyes were focused on Rivette. It wasn’t so bad a bargain, all things considered.

“We flushed him out. Sent two men down one end of the alley while I took little Michel up to corner him. There was nowhere to run.”

Javert’s breath came in a hoarse rasp. “But he put up a fight.”

“Knocked Michel out cold. I was able to get him up against the wall, one arm behind his back. But he twisted out of it when I wasn’t looking.”

“He got you on the ground,” Javert said, his voice low.

In fact, the man had shoved Rivette back against the wall, but minor details of that sort could wait for the official report. Rivette nodded. “That’s right.”

“Tell me about it.”

Rivette took a shaky breath, his eyes falling closed. This was easier, in a way. He’d imagined something a little like this. Not with the man he’d run into tonight and not with the man in Javert’s mind. But he’d played it out enough to know how it would go.

“He was on top of me, leaning in so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. Had his whole arm pinning my chest down.” In his imagination he’d always gone down without a struggle, happy to be of service. But it wasn’t quite his fantasy anymore. “I was twisting, trying to push him off. But nothing worked.”

“There’s no shame in that. He’s a powerful man,” Javert’s voice was low. When Rivette’s eyes drifted lower, he could see the effect he was having and felt a little surge of heartsick pride.

“And that was when your shirt was torn, I suppose?”

He swallowed. “That’s right, Sir.”

“When you report to me, I expect you to be in impeccable condition. That shirt is a disgrace.”

“I know, Sir.”

“Well?”

Rivette hesitated, his breath coming in a nervous rush. He glanced at the door again and then back at Javert, whose lips were quirked. 

Rivette swallowed, lowered his eyes and pulled his shirt over his head. He folded it carefully, because standards were still standards even once the shirt was ruined, and straightened his shoulders.

“Very good,” Javert said, and the words rolled over Rivette like warm water. Javert’s eyes were moving over his chest, following the paths of old scars and new bruises. It was strange, to have Javert’s attention focused on only him — if only for a moment to be alone with Javert, not to be crowded out by anonymous criminals and the one unspoken name that lurked behind all of those fantasies. He took half a nervous step forward.

“Sir— Javert?”

Javert’s expression hardened. He sat up a little straighter and Rivette fell back into place.

“He had you on your back,” Javert said, a note of threat in his voice.

“That’s right.”

“And a man like that, pressed up against a man like you… no doubt you observed some reaction in him.” A pause. “Or perhaps he observed some reaction in you?”

Heat crawled up Rivette’s throat. He exhaled, shakily. Javert continued.

“Yes, that seems quite likely to me. A big strong man, pinning you down. I think you’d like that a great deal, wouldn’t you?”

“Perhaps, Sir.”

Javert laughed softly. He beckoned Rivette closer and Rivette came as easily as if he were attached to the end of a string, finally coming to rest between Javert’s knees. Javert traced an agonisingly light hand down Rivette’s side before moving lower over Rivette’s trousers. He smiled.

“Perhaps indeed. You’re lucky there were three other men out there to restrain him.”

Rivette’s cock jumped at that. With an effort he kept his hips from pressing forward into Javert’s hand. Javert’s thumb moved slowly and deliberately, tracing its outline through rough cotton until he was undeniably hard. Then Javert withdrew, leaning back in his chair to look Rivette up and down.

“A man like that needs a firm hand, wouldn’t you agree?”

Rivette nodded, his mind full of Javert’s hands: Holding him in place, positioning him the way Javert wanted, digging in at the moment of climax. Javert was already unfastening his trousers. It wouldn’t be long now.

“You address a thief with authority. It’s the only language they understand. You issue simple instructions and you don’t accept anything less than total obedience. Understood?”

Rivette nodded, his mouth dry. Javert’s smile was warm, but there was something sharp at its edges. A glint of the predatory smile Rivette knew from dark alleys and filthy tenements. The smile that struck fear into the heart of the underworld — not to mention half the prefecture.

“Good. On your knees, then.”

There was nothing easier. There was no fretting about who was indulging whose fantasy, which lines were being nudged and which were being trampled over, no useless hand-wringing over what all of this really _meant_ to Javert. An order was an order, and orders made everything simple. Javert’s hand came down to touch his hair and Rivette closed his eyes, inhaling Javert’s familiar scent and ignoring the hulking outline of a dark-haired man that lurked in the back of his mind.

The hand in his hair tugged, more firmly than necess ary, and Rivette leaned forward, allowing Javert’s cock to brush his lips. The boss wasn’t usually in the mood to be teased, but a hitch in Javert’s breath told Rivette that his technique wasn’t going entirely unappreciated.

“That’s right,” Javert muttered as Rivette opened up for him. “Simple instructions, absolute obedience. You don’t accept arguments or bargaining. You make yourself clear and you prepare for resistance.”

_He’ll have you in cuffs one of these days,_ something whispered in his mind and he closed his eyes, ignoring the way his cock twitched and his heart ached at the thought. 

Instead he focused his mind on his task, his eyes watering as Javert tightened his grip and urged him to take more of the length into his mouth. He had an idea by now of what Javert liked. And if he couldn’t give Javert the one thing he wanted, at least he could give him the closest thing to it.

He pulled back for a moment, working the head of Javert’s cock with one hand as he stole a glance upwards. Javert’s head was tilted back, his eyes closed and his lower lip caught between his teeth. There was a strange vulnerability to him like this, undone and hard as a rock and lost in the back streets of memory and imagination, all of his strange little obsessions laid out before Rivette. 

An unwelcome surge of feeling rushed through Rivette’s chest, and he lowered his head, mouthing a kiss to Javert’s thigh. It was easier to get away with that sort of thing when Javert was almost finished. He caressed Javert’s balls, pushing his legs further apart for better access, and Javert moved easily. That deserved a reward, so he took Javert in his mouth again, swallowing more until his eyes watered. The hand that gripped Rivette’s hair tightened and Rivette braced himself as Javert tipped over the edge.

Javert came with a rush of held breath, holding Rivette in place with a grip tight enough to distract him from his rough night, the filth of the streets and the humiliation of standing in for some long-lost convict. For a bright, dazzling moment, there was only the hard wooden floor and the weight in his mouth and the sourness of Javert’s climax in his mouth. He swallowed as best he could, his own cock throbbing and neglected in his trousers.

The quiet few minutes afterwards never lasted as long as Rivette would have liked. Javert slipped from his mouth and allowed Rivette to tidy him away, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as Rivette’s fingers worked numbly on the fastenings of his trousers. His hand was still in Rivette’s hair, but it was incongruously gentle now, almost caressing.

Rivette’s own arousal was flagging now that Javert’s attention was seeping away, a bitterness threatening the edges of his awareness. It was usually best to get out of Javert’s sight as quickly as possible. Javert appreciated his professionalism, in this as in everything else. No use spoiling a job well done with a tantrum.

He stood, picking up his shirt and pulling it on. Straightening his ruined clothing as best he could, he fixed his eyes on the wall behind Javert’s head.

“Will that be all, then?”

Javert glanced at his stack of papers, then back at Rivette. There was something questioning in his expression, but then it was gone. Javert nodded briskly.

“That’ll be it for tonight.” He turned his chair back to his desk and Rivette inclined his head, already calculating the quickest route to the door and the easiest way to find a diligence so far after midnight. 

“Oh, and Rivette?” He froze, his hand was almost on the door, and looked back. Javert was still at his desk, watching him with an expression Rivette could not describe. Alone at the centre of the prefecture, still at his desk and surrounded by stacks of papers, Javert seemed oddly small and distant.

“Excellent work, as always,” Javert said, his voice rough.

Rivette nodded, his mouth a firm line. “Thank you, Sir.”


End file.
